


The Last Laugh

by MoonlitHowls (Kialish)



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Evan is Angery, Gen, I mean its DBD Death and Violence happens and its graphic, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Murder, Other, Sexual Harassment, Should I Tag major character death considering how often people 'die' in Dead by Daylight??, The Clown is a Creep, Torture, finger horror, gut spill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-05-19 23:15:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14883065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kialish/pseuds/MoonlitHowls
Summary: The Trapper was once the top tier of the Entity's killers, though his infatuation with a certain redheaded survivor has left his already rocky relationship with the all seeing Entity in even more disarray. The Entity has seen fit to intervene in the worst way it could; By sending Meg to the Clown.





	1. Pop Goes The Weasel

To say the Trapper was angry was a  _ gross  _ understatement. Evan was furious. Even the survivors who were stuck facing the enraged man could tell. This Trapper didn’t have the same cool composure, the same looming presence that oozed terror despite his obviously calm and calculated demeanor. He struck them with unrestrained ferocity, miscalculated his own swings and missed attacks, didn’t even show the normal amount of patience for a survivor who was hooked, gutting them before anyone could save them. His mori, when it did come, was less lazy and quick. His blows into the back of the survivor beneath him was unrelenting and brutal, spraying himself and his overalls with blood and not stopping well after the victim had given their last breath.

This Trapper was not the same one, surely.

But even his increased performance in the trials, never allowing a single survivor to leave, didn’t seem to satisfy the anger he was trying to release. He had nothing else he could do. What was there to do when you were mad at a god using the object of your affection to hurt you?

The Entity had made it known before that it was displeased with Evans interest in the survivor, Meg, but the man had ignored its annoying whispers and nattering to stop. Evan had no love for his master, not anymore. He was tired of the Trials, and found a new light, a beacon, in the form of the runner. The Entity’s most recent solution to this problem was by prying Meg away from him in trials, and forcing her with less savory killers. 

Now, Evan wouldn’t have worried about this. In fact, he knew she could hold her own against the others just fine. But the Entity had pulled in someone  _ new _ . Or perhaps he wasn’t new. Perhaps he had been in the fog all this time. The killers rarely interacted, preferring an isolated life here. This one was new to Evan, however. And he heard about him through Meg, who still spirited away to his corner of the realm between trials.

The Clown.

A disgusting despicable killer, even to the Trapper. A creature consumed by sloth and gluttony, fat and disgusting. And obsessed with Meg. A killer’s obsession could be dangerous. Evan knew how Myers took to obsessions, but the Clown had a unique fixation. It liked Meg for her body, and most of all her fingers. He utilized a toxin that slowed and disoriented the survivors, and Meg had come to him many times in duress, fingers twitching with phantom pains from his knife and touches.

It made him crazy with rage. He roared his anger to the Entity who only responded with the truth of the matter: His performance had slipped, and his interest in Meg had made the Entity further displeased. This was his punishment. Meg would be sent to the worst and Evan could hear about her treatment later and be left unable to do anything until he righted himself in the spider like gods all seeing eyes.

So he took out his anger, his helplessness, on anything he could. The MacMillan estate where he ‘lived’ as a killer off trial was in shambles. He’d broken crates, scattered metal both raw and refined everywhere. His shack was a mess of upturned tables, his crafted masks and tools thrown on the floor. His various weapons were sank into the wooden walls, and fire had licked the floor when he tossed a lantern there, too.

The survivors in his trial felt the brunt of it, too.  _ Do better. _ So he would. He would show that spindly legged piece of shit how much better he could be. Because he could do nothing else.

But it wasn’t enough. None of it was satisfying. Meg still came to him with tales of the Clown and his tonic, the Entity still ignored him and demanded he drop the girl altogether and separate himself from she that was causing him so much pain.

Enough was enough. He’d try a different approach to this problem.

\---

The chapel stood eerily in the foggy map, unfamiliar to Evan and groaning softly under the weight of its own rubble. Crows cawed from the steeple, beady eyes fixated on Evan curiously.  _ What are you doing? _ The eyes asked. The Entity was watching. 

Let it watch.

Cleaver in hand, Evan walked towards the obnoxious looking circus wagon. His shoulders quaked with his rage, still on the surface of his rare emotions. His face was stoic behind his mask, glancing around for the Clown.

A wicker drew his attention, and Evan turned to see a decaying horse swinging its head in towards him. Its flesh rotted and dripped from it’s neck, bone exposed and flies buzzing hungrily around it. Its eyes were milky white, aside from one large orb that sat in its forehead. The third eye was firey orange and staring through him. He sneered. The Entity couldn’t even replicate animals properly… 

Inside the wagon came a choked cough, a sound of years of abuse on the physical body, followed by a wheeze. Every noise the other killer made only made Evan more furious. This disgusting creature harassing  _ his  _ Meg…

Heavy footsteps made their way towards Evan, the door to the carriage swinging open and slamming loudly against the wall. The clown was even more grotesque seeing him rather than hearing about him, red hot anger bubbling closer to his skin. Fat would be a kind descriptor, his gut hung round and protruding from his belt line. It heaved with every wheezy breath the man took. His face was painted with crude and lazy swaths of color, like a traditional clown though it was lopsided and the greasepaint dripped around his crooked mouth and dark eyes. He was mostly bald aside from tufts of yellowed hair that sprouted around either side of his dome, as unkempt as the rest of him. Evan could even make out his thick and ingrown nails on is fingers.

The Clown cracked a smile, the action malicious and exposing rotting teeth. Evan could practically smell the rot of his gums from where he sood.

“‘The Trapper’, right?” The man spoke with a voice laced with years of tar inhalation and an accent from somewhere Evan couldn’t place. The Clown waddled closer, his strained breathing louder. “Oh, I’ve heard  _ all  _ about you. The Entity, that big bad thing that pulled me here, yeah, it talks ‘bout you. Told me ‘bout you. Used to be quite the top dog around here, didn’t’cha?!” 

The Clown laughed, as loud and obnoxious as the misplaced circus cart in the map which it rested. He ended his laugh with a cough, clearing his throat but not losing the dark glint of malintent in his eyes.

“But now you’re just it’s useless bitch. It says you don’t do well anymore. Too… Distracted.” The Clown continued, leaning against his wagon and retrieving his knife from his pocket. Evans eyes fell to the keyring at his hip, fingers of varying stage of rot hanging from the metal. His rage was sweltering now, knowing that at least one was Megs. The words the Clown was spewing weren’t doing him any favors, either.

“I can’t blame you for being so distracted.” The Clown said, shrugging and offering a tight lipped look of understanding. “I have a soft spot for redheads myself. And her...” He whistled sharply, nodding his head. “She’s a looker. I love seeing her run from me. That’s what got you too, right? That sweet little ass running away?”

He waited for Evan to speak, but shrugged when a response didn’t come. Flipping open his knife, he began to dig dirt from beneath his crusty nails.

“I like her best when I get her with my tonic. I like  _ everyone  _ best that way.” He added with another gross chuckle. “They try so hard to fight it off, and her the most. Never had one fight so much as her, its admirable. But I have to say. I love it, when she’s choking on my…  _ tonic _ .”

He clicked out the last word and looked over at the Trapper, his knuckles bleach white as one was a fist at his side and the other clutched his cleaver so hard it was aching. The implication didn’t go over his head… Angry thoughts conspired in his mind now. Had he done anything to her? Had he touched her body, raped her? Used her? Had she neglected to tell him out of fear of what he would think? Or was it just a jest to rile him up? He didn’t know, but the anger burned regardless.

“I hate having to put such a pretty thing on a hook! Such a waste that is. I can think of so many better uses for a little slut like that.” The Clown continued. He was pushing. Evan knew he was.

“I’m going to gut you like the useless pig you are.” The Trapper growled, voice shaking with layers of anger that had built up the more the stupid, fat man talked.

"OH, He  _ does  _ speak! I thought maybe you were just that mentally retarded. You look it." The Clown laughed again, standing upright.

Even said nothing, merely adjusting the grip on his weapon and starting forward. The Clown, despite his size, retreated back a few steps surprisingly fast, brandishing his knife. It was laughable. The blade wouldn’t do much against Evan. He was used to much worse pain from much bigger sources…Then the Clown fished in his coat, pulling a bottle of liquid out and throwing it at Evan.

The Trapper raised his blade and slashed the bottle out of the air. A cloud of pinkish gas fell, the effect near immediate. He coughed, covering his face with one arm and lunging forward. It didn’t affect him as much as it did the survivors, and the look of brief surprise on the Clowns face said that he was hoping it would. Evan slashed with his cleaver, the sharp metal whistling as it came down. With a sound of effort and shock, the Clown avoided the brunt of the injury, blood spilling from a gash on his arm.

“Hey! This is my favorite jacket, you fucking monkey.” He growled. Evan raised his blade again, the Clown trying to regain his previous composure and steadying his butterfly knife.

The cleaver came down, but the Clown sidestepped and took a slash at Evan. The small blade nicked his arm, drawing blood but not hindering him in any way. Evan raised the blunt edge of the weapon and slammed it into the Clowns face. The other killer yelped in pain as he was thrown back and his face paint smeared. Evan sneered and wiped the paint off his blade with disgust, before turning back to the Clown.

The rotund killer scrambled back a few meters, clearly afraid of Evan now. His attacks did next to nothing to him. If anyone was a useless bitch here, it was this fool. Parading around like he owned the place, hurting what was Evans. He couldn’t kill the Entity, couldn’t even hurt it. But this man? He was flesh and blood. Sure, he would come back. But then Evan would kill him again and again and again....

He took quick steps toward the man who had backed into a blackened brick wall, cleaver raised with intent to cut the man’s head off his filthy neck.

"WAIT! Wait.. you got me. I fold, whatever. I'll stop..." The Clown sputtered, sweat beading through the greasepaint on his forehead.   
  
Evan lowered the cleaver ever so slightly, a subtle action, a slight loss of tension in his arm...   
  
"Just let me have one last drink." The clown loosed a husky laugh, fishing into his coat again.   
  
The small glass bottle was flung from his fat fingers faster than Evan could step out of its arc, the glass shattering against the teeth of his metallic mask. The stench of this unfamiliar mixture hit him first, then it got into his lungs. He couldn’t stop coughing, his vision beginning to swim and double as the gas sank into his bloodstream. He stumbled back, the clown laughing and standing, twirling out his butterfly knife.   
  
"You really are stupid, aren't you?" The Clown taunted. He lashed forward, intending to swipe out the Trappers jugular and rid himself of the man’s rage. But the Trapper himself wasn’t so easily subdued. Evan reacted and swiped at one of the hazy triad of arms motioning towards him and caught it mid-swing.   
  
"You call that a knife." He growls, the gas still strong on his tongue, barely able to make out the face of fear that the Clown was wearing. He wasn't some survivor whelp. He was the Entities Left Hand. Or he was, once upon a time.

The Clown opened his fat lips to say something else, to buy his way out of this perhaps, or maybe to taunt Evan further. The Trapper wasn’t about to wait for it. He thrust his cleaver up into the Clowns gut, the other killer loosing a sad sounding whine of pain. His knees gave and he fell to the ground still impaled on Evans weapon. Evan dropped his arm, the Clowns arms falling to his side before touching around the cleaver.

“ _ It  _ made me do it.” He tried to explain, Evan ignoring the blistering pain on his face as the tonics mixture irritated the skin it had hit. Pitiful. Even trying to hide behind an excuse like blaming the Entity.

Evan pulled out the cleaver slightly, then swung it in a wide arc and cut the pig’s stomach open wide. The Clown yowled in pain, his fatty insides sliding out of the massive slash. Organs and blood began to gush forth, free from the flesh that held them in place. He pulled out the cleaver entirely, the Clown falling onto his side and simpering meekly as his life force began to fade. Evan wiped the bladdied blade against his overalls before kneeling by the Clown and grabbing the collar of his coat.

“Stay away from Meg. Or I’ll come again.” He growled. The Clown gave a look of confusion at his words, before the shine in his beetle black eyes faded and he died.

Evan stood, exhaling sharply. He wasn’t sated. Not entirely. But this had at the very least been cathartic. A crow cawed, announcing itself as it landed on the broken wall the Clown had died by. It stared at Evan, then landed on the Clown and began to peck at its insides. Evan sneered and turned to leave.


	2. Coulrophobia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Clown is not so easily beat down, and the Trapper has one particular weakness...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Warning* Finger related horror this chapter!

The Clown found death… Unappealing. It wasn’t the most entertaining way to spend his time when it was  _ himself  _ the one dying. Others? Now that was fun. Watching them cry and beg, weakly flail as they fought against the toxins he mixed so diligently… That was good fun. But not this.

Luckily, he didn’t need to stay dead very long at all. The Entity, whatever it was, it spoke to the man named Jeffrey Hawk - or was it Kenneth Chase? Perhaps both, the man hadn’t used the latter in many years… It hissed it’s words into his mind as he floated in a dark subconsciousness, spoke to him of the Trapper and his red headed whore. Ah, yes, the bitch who had spiked the ugly brutes anger and made him kill the Clown. So easily, too. The Clown hadn’t been prepared for such an adversary, not since his prey had consisted of survivors, much weaker and handed to him on a fear drenched platter.

Like cattle.

But the Trapper had been a wild bull loosed in his tiny trailer. 

The Clown could feel himself reforming. What an odd sensation that was. He hadn’t expected to come back, not from dying. Sure, he’d seen survivors he’d killed come back time and time again into his so called ‘trials’, but hadn’t thought the courtesy that the Entity provided would extend to himself. Especially once he had been killed by another of the Entity’s pets, another killer. But, no, he was sure of it. He was feeling the heavy weight of his body drag him back into consciousness, felt the struggle to breath as life returned to him. 

He wheezed, almost sad he had come back. Dying wasn’t fun, it wasted his time, but his body was a hefty prison to tote around. Wasn’t like he was going to change it any time soon. The feeling of floating so close to the Entity and it’s massive conscience was a nice feeling, even if dying and being dead hadn’t been all that nice.

‘ _ Fresh meat comes to you, Clown _ .’ The Entity hissed. It raised the hairs on the back of his neck, the man nodding. ‘ _ Prepare yourself. _ ’

Glancing around, he found himself in his wagon again, hearing the familiar ghoulish whinney from his horse, Maurice. The animal almost seemed delighted that he came back. Such a loyal, stupid thing it was… Even in the Entity’s realm… 

He hefted himself off of his chair, lungs heaving to suck in air. In this world he didn’t fear death from what he had done to himself over the years. The booze, the smoking, the copious amounts of food… None of it really had marked him here. But he could still feel it. Every sway of his belly, the way his body ached for air with every breath. Yet he could move quickly and without tiring, could lift survivors onto his shoulder and then onto meat hooks provided to him like they were nothing. The Entity plucked away true mortality and weakness when it had pulled him here. It had no need for a  _ weak  _ killer.

The Clown fiddled with his bottles, lifting them and eying the solution cautiously. He could make an unending supply here, the Entity again providing for him. Sometimes the Entity even gave him special things to mix in, or he would find a spare bottle, or a trinket to make his work even more simple. Today though… What would he use today?

Sniffing and scratching at his nose, the Clown grabbed a sticky soda bottle he had found earlier. Filling it with his afterpiece tonic, he then grabbed a flask of bleach. The bleach was added to his tonic with a cruel smile. This would be sure to slow them down even further if they got caught in the gaseous cloud…

Black eyes looked up at the shelves before him, looking at the other items he had collected and in some cases, crafted. Offerings. The Entity gave him small hints on them, how they were used, made, and burnt. His lips spread into a grin as he pulled down one he had been saving, a ebony skull on a dangling rope. He could feel the Entity’s approval, the crackling whispers that spoke of nothing increasing around him. 

Stepping outside, he dropped the item into a bin of fire, watching as it flaked away into glowing bits of ash as the fog thickened around him.

When the fog cleared, the Clown found he hadn’t gone very far. This was still the location of his parked caravan, the ruined chapel standing tall and menacingly. Around him he could see the outlines of the seven generators he would patrol, and he began to head towards them. Crows cawed idly, glancing at the Clown before fluttering away from his heavy but quick steps.

He could already hear the sounds of a generators pistons firing, sluggish and slow as the survivor worked to mend the rusted machine. Pulling a bottle from his pocket, he took aim and loosed it with a heave. A small Asian girl clad in blue bolted before the bottle landed, abandoning her machine and leaving behind a trail of red scratches.

“ _ Follow, chase _ !” The Entity hissed, it’s excitement tickling the back of the Clowns neck. The Clown took a moment to slam his heel into the barely started generator, knocking loose the work she had done, before following the marks.

The one gave way to two more, the brown skinned girl and the old man. They split off in separate directions, panic gleaming in their eyes as the Clown threw down another bottle of gas. The bespectacled girl screamed as the gas stung her lungs and made her slow. The Clown laughed and took a swing at her, slicing her skin and spraying blood. She jolted forward, now injured and panicked as she headed for the Caravan. 

He pursued, eyes trained on the red marks and splatters of blood falling from the deep slice on her arm. It was almost too easy, throwing another bottle and herding her away from the pallet she wanted to hide by and making another deep cut in her side. She collapsed and he hoisted her on the hook.

The others would come now, drawn by their friends screams of pain as she hung from the hook. He took the time to refill his bottles, looking around for the others. He spotted the old man, trying to hide behind a tree. Narrowing his brows, the Clown stalked forward. He threw a bottle, the man crying out and dashing forward towards the Chapel. The Clown pursued, until he heard the steps of another. Little sneaks they were, working together.

Then a flash of red caught his attention. His beetle-black eyes glinted maliciously as the runner ran up to the hook and hoisted the girl off.  _ Meg _ .

The warning from the Trapper wasn’t going to stop him, not really. If he died, he came back. Simple as that. And the larger Killer had seemed oh so dearly  _ attached  _ to this fragile thing. He couldn’t kill the Trapper on his own, but the girl? Oh, he could do plenty to the girl…

Ignoring the old man who had since dashed into the Chapel and hid, the Clown stalked towards Meg. Fiery eyes locked on him brows narrowed in anger - and fear. She ran, swerving to avoid the bottle thrown towards her and sidestepping the gas cloud. He followed her as she ran around his carriage, ignoring Maurices’ surprised whickers. She leapt over a pile of debris silently, but her scratch marks still remained. The Clown followed.

He threw a bottle towards a tree in front of her, the girl glancing back with a smug smirk at his apparent ‘miss’. But the gas fell around her and she began to slow. He could almost feel the way her breath became a sputtering wheeze, the bleach sticking to her lungs… But she still ran. Behind them, a generator popped to life. Fine, let them have it. He had something bigger to focus on.

He was gaining ground on her now, and she was dancing around a pallet. He threw a bottle over her head and came towards her. She hesitated, debating between running towards him or into the gas. Dropping the pallet down and narrowly missing the Clown himself, she opted for the cloud of gas, covering her mouth as she made a run for it.

Walking around the pallet, that was all he needed, taking his knife and slashing at her back. She screamed, staggering forward with a small burst of speed and looking over her shoulder. The smugness in her expression had faded, sweat beading from her brow as she turned back to the surroundings in front of her. 

She turned behind a rock, the Clown refilling his bottles and watching for her to come out. She didn’t. Did she really think she was going to be safe there?

Another generator popped to life, within the chapel this time.

The Clown threw down a bottle where she had run and walked opposite of his throw. As expected, she sprinted forward like a hare smoked out of its den, the Clown catching her in the gut with his blade. She fell to the ground with a scream. Groaning in pain, she tried to crawl away. The Clown laughed.

“Stupid little cunt…” He said darkly, lifting her off the ground and onto his shoulder. 

“Let me go you piece of shit Clown!” She spat, slamming her fist into his back. He ignored her, steadily walking towards a hook and hoisting her on it.

Another scream, and then she hung limply on the hook. Anger burned in her eyes again, blood oozing from her open wounds as the Clown swirled his bottle and remixed his concoction. He gave her a greasy smile, then turned and left her. 

A third generator had come on now, the Clown grumbling. He waddled towards a generator that had been started, two of its pistons firing, before giving it a hard kick. The machine sputtered as components were loosed and smoke trailed from the machine. Good. That’d give him more time to try and go after the others.

Meg was pulled down before long, but the other survivors had been wasting their time. One had been caught by the Clown, the Asian girl, dangling on a hook and whimpering in pain by the time Meg had been saved. The brown girl had come to grab the Asian one, expecting, perhaps, the Clown to beeline towards Meg again as he had chased her down earlier. No, no, he still had a job to do…

He let the girl get unhooked before downing them both in a mess of gas and blood, then he killed them. Oh, this was his favorite part. Stomping their skulls in until they stopped screaming and then finding the best finger to add to his collection!

The fourth generator had lit up by the time he had finished with those two girls, sticking their bloody fingers onto his keyring. They only had one generator left and two of them. 

The Clown stalked around the remaining machines until he caught sight of the old man. He was taken to the basement of the chapel, hung on the set of four hooks that seemed omnipresent. 

And now he waited. He knew the redhead was the… optimistic type. The altruistic type. She would come for the old man…

And so she did, slowly vaulting a window into the chapel and creeping towards the basement, sweat beading on her forehead. The Clown, standing perfectly still watched her go, grinning darkly. Without warning, he grabbed her before she even got to the stairs.

“Hey- Fuck off!” She snarled, throwing a punch. The Clown chuckled and dug his butterfly knife into her stomach for the second time. She inhaled sharply, falling to her knees.

Before she could get up and run again, the Clown gave a strong kick to her head, knocking her over. She groaned in pain, and below them the Entity devoured the old man on the hook. The creaking groan of the Entity filled the chapel before disappearing with a distant boom, leaving Meg with the Clown.

“What are you waiting for? Just fucking kill me…” Meg spat, blood pooling around her.

“Nah, I’m gonna take my time with you, doll.” The Clown answered, walking over to her and crouching down. Her head turned towards him, brows narrowed in questioning. “See, your little boyfriend? He came by the other day! Not the friendliest guy…”  
  
“‘Boyfriend’?” Meg asked.

“The Trapper. Big burly fella. Said he didn’t like me messin’ with ya.” The Clown said. Megs eyes widened ever so slightly, her fear spiking. “Actually killed me for it. But, y’see, even we come back if we’re killed. Shocking, right? Even I didn’t know it.”   
He laughed, standing and wiping at his nose. 

“And, y’see, I can’t do too much to him. He’s pretty strong, I’ll give him that.”

“Damn straight he is.” Meg growled. “He’ll kick your ass again for this…”  


She was scared, trying to deflect it onto him. He gave her a tight lipped smile.

“I don’t care. I’ll come back. And since I can’t hurt him the same way, I figured I’d find another way to do it.”

He could see the understanding flash in her eyes. Meg started to crawl away.

“Nah nah nah, you’re not going anywhere.” The Clown said, stepping on her hand. She cried out as he ground his heel in. “You’re gonna be my little message to that has-been.”

“Just fucking kill me.” She hissed, tears of pain wetting her cheeks.

“That’d be way too simple, and you know it.”

He pulled his boot off her hand, and she recoiled it with a sharp gasp. The Clown pulled out his knife, spinning the blade open. He crouched by her, and as she tried to crawl again, he pulled her hand to him. He tilted his head as he looked at them.

There was a bruise forming on the back of the hand, where he had stepped, and her fingers were twitching from the pain. They were all quite pretty, and all would be a nice addition to the ones he had… Maybe he’d put them in his caravan, and just carry the one with him!

She was quiet now, watching him and biting on her lower lip as he chest heaved with short and sharp breaths.

"You have such nimble fingers. Kinda like your quick and nimble little legs." He sliced off her index finger, his eversharp blade slicing easily through muscle and bone. She choked on a scream. Impulsively trying to pull her hand away from him, the Clown only tightened his grip on her wrist. The knife was placed under the middle finger next. "I bet this one’s seen a lot of use." 

Another scream, lost in a sob of pain as that one was removed as well. She was shaking, whimpering beneath him as he laughed.

"Doubt you’ll see much use from this one with your little Trapper fixation." He continued, sticking his lower lip out and lining up his blade with her ring finger. She shook her head, watching as he pulled the blade up and severed a finger from her hand yet again.

“Stop, please stop, please.” Meg stammered, gasping for breath and writhing on the ground.

“And this little piggy…” The Clown hummed, slicing off her pinky. 

That one he picked up, releasing her wrist and spinning the bloodied finger between his index finger and thumb. She curled in on herself as he examined his chosen trophy, breath shuddered with sobs as her hand oozed from the stumps that were once fingers. He dragged the pinky across his lips before giving it an experimental lick.

Hmm, yes, this one was the best one… His eyes flickered down to the girl. He wasn’t done, not just yet.

He wrestled her other hand into his grip, not teasing this time as he cut off all four of her fingers and again pocketed the pinky.

“Let’s see how far you can crawl now, little lady.” The Clown said with a husky laugh. 

“ _ Fuck _ you.” Meg hiccuped between sobs, eyes wet and red but still blazing with anger. Despite it all. She was an  _ angry  _ one, wasn’t she?

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t mind that, you offerin’?” 

“I’d rather die.” 

“Alright, that’s what the man upstairs would prefer anyway.” The Clown shrugged, hoisting her onto his shoulder. She didn’t squirm or fight as he dragged her to the basement and impaled her on a hook for a second time.

The Entity formed in the blink of an eye, pointed legs stabbing down towards the redhead. It was fun to watch, if he was being honest. She only had her thumbs as she fought off the assailing legs of the Entity, in obvious pain as she tried to prolong the inevitable. One slip was all it took, her blood soaked hands sliding against the rough carapace of the Entity and becoming impaled.

The Clown smiled to himself as he left the basement. Fuck the Trapper if he thought he could scare off the Clown in a world like this.

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as mostly 'Trapper Kills the Clown' but has taken its own life into a small, 3 part fic! It follows no real story or lengthier fic currently, rather is a brief arc within the world of Dead By Daylight.


End file.
